


Bottom of the Deep Blue Sea

by agent_cupcake



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Double Penetration, F/M, Implied/Referenced Torture, Reader is Not My Unit | Byleth, Threesome - F/M/M, Yandere
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:41:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25454092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent_cupcake/pseuds/agent_cupcake
Summary: It had been a while since you’d been touched. The pain had made you sensitized, or perhaps that was the after-effects of the healing magic, or the relief of safety. Beyond that, your body had craved this in their absence, the aching memory of each lonely night imprinted into your skin. Still, even after being hurt?That answer came easily, naturally. Of course.
Relationships: Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra/Reader, Ferdinand von Aegir/Reader, Hubert von Vestra/Reader
Comments: 6
Kudos: 92





	Bottom of the Deep Blue Sea

**Author's Note:**

> Anonymous asked: For the yandere daydream prompts, I'd love to see either 2 or 10 for the ot3 Hubert x you x Ferdinand ship. The yandere, being in a relationship with both of them headcanons you did for them are still some of my favourite FE headcanons *sweats*
> 
> 2.”It’s for your safety. You’ll see.”  
> 10\. “I don’t know what I would do if I couldn’t have you.” 
> 
> While these lines are in this beast of a one-shot, you might have to look a bit to see them. And this is, of course, ANOTHER yandere escape attempt story. Also, interestingly, it's my second ever threesome. Like, in writing. Ah, how the times change.

Once, you told him, “I hate you.” Your tone dripped with all of the acid you could bring forth towards the man you once believed would be your savior, your eyes burned with the cinders of rage. And Ferdinand’s eyebrows furrowed, his lips drawing in a pouting frown. He looked hurt. He looked sad.

“How could you possibly say that?” he asked, his voice soft and gentle even in his pain. “I can understand a bit of hostility considering the circumstances, but to say that you hate me… Well, I would hope that one day you will come to feel differently. After all, you must already be aware of my feelings for you.” And the hatred you felt so bitterly dried up like sand, leaving nothing but hollow helplessness for the situation you’d created for yourself. The way your heart ached was sickening. What care should you have had for the man who kept you locked away with little more freedom than a caged bird? It was horrifying and unreasonable to feel compassion. Affection. It made you sick just to think about it. But he continued, as he always did, pooling poison into the wound in his naturally guileless way. “I understand that it is not entirely pleasant to live like this, but I believe this is a far preferable alternative to the gallows. Do you not agree?”

It was a slow decline after that. A slope on which you found yourself endlessly tumbling. Ferdinand as you knew him smelled of fragrant tea leaves and expensive woods and the soothing cologne that would cling to your senses long after he let go. Even when he was gone you could smell him everywhere, as if he’d infected your mind in some way. His long auburn hair was soft between your fingers and his lips were sweet when he kissed you. You dreamed of that sometimes, of kissing him. Not as some grand, sweeping strategic move to try and seduce your way to freedom, as there was no manipulation inherent to the action. In your moments of weakness, you kissed Ferdinand, holding to him desperately like a lifeline, because sometimes you felt as if you needed to feel his body against yours, to feel the soothing comfort of another person’s warmth. Because you craved the affection to drown out the misery that tugged on your thoughts like the tide over sand, the affection you’d been so starved of long before he came into your life. Because he held you like he truly loved you. And maybe he did. Maybe leaving you in a state of ruin and keeping you caged was an aspect of his adoration, maybe betraying your trust and breaking your will were acts of affection.

Once you told him, "I hate you." Your words trembled with fear because you knew of Hubert’s reputation. You had been witness to it once before. You, branded a criminal, knew that his smile promised little more than a cruel fate. And yet he spared you. More than that, he saved you. An innocent, he said, didn’t deserve to be hung for the sake of the petty nobility that continued to plague the new empire. And when you told him of your hatred, he smiled, a serpentine softness glittering in his eyes.

"No you don’t,” he told you without flinching, without doubt. “I’m quite afraid such a feeling’s not in your nature.” He paused there, considering you with his piercing eyes. “I don’t _dislike_ that about you. To some degree, I might even consider it charming.”

You fought against him harder than you did Ferdinand, but it was a futile struggle. All three of you knew that you were a perfect victim for the twisted situation they’d set you up in, it was only a matter of time until you would relent. Even to him, frightening as he could seem. Hubert smelled of rich coffee and the sharp, biting tang of dark magic, of leather and ink. His eyes were dangerously sharp and his kisses were rare. Most of the time he was controlled and poised, ready with a clever comment or biting remark. But when he melted, when his gaze softened and hands became gentle, that was the time he was at his most dangerous. You learned early on that Hubert’s vulnerability wasn’t a flaw to be exploited, but a trap. He could whisper sweet nothings to you, tell you of his most tender feelings, all the while hurting you in the most insidious of ways. It was hurt that consumed you when he caressed your face, because you couldn’t help but lean into the touch, seeking it out like an animal starved for comfort. It was agony —not too unlike the type you felt when subjected to any of his "punishments"— that bled from you when Hubert told you that you loved him. And it was torment that devoured you from the pure cruelty of his muted musings that he loved you in return. Because why else would he have sacrificed so much for your preservation? There were other explanations for those feelings, logical arguments that you'd thought of when you were free of his sickening convictions, but those all unraveled so easily beneath the prying pinchers of his gaze.

Now you whispered “I hate you,” into the silence when they were gone, if only to know that your mouth could still form the words. But they meant nothing. In those moments more than anything, you wished for their company, anything to ease the isolation. In those moments, your mind was utterly consumed by them.

And you cried. Helplessly, childishly. Of all the things Hubert and Ferdinand had stolen, your life, your freedom, your body, to realize that they’d stolen your mind as well was enough to tear you in two. The thing that sent you over the edge. It was a perfect storm of fear, agony, and something you dared not call love— all of it swirled together and overtook you. The animalistic and raw effect of extreme stress.

It was right then that you realized how badly you wanted to escape. That was something you hadn’t tried in earnest, not even after being raped, or being subjected to their “punishments”. Those things were cruel, but they had sapped you of your strength rather than lent you any. The emotional turmoil that haunted you in isolation was worse, far more persistent. You wanted to escape the deeper fear, the one that writhed and knotted in the deepest part of your head. The fear of becoming complacent with your life as it was. Of truly, in your heart of hearts, believing that Hubert was right. That you loved them.

The plan was, even to your inexperienced understanding, juvenile at best. Lockpicks of twisted metal and file. A vague idea that you’d be able to find friends in the city. Certainly, there were those who would be pleased to see that you hadn’t swung on account of the trumped up charges leveled at you by a system barely cleansed of its class trappings. There was some irony in thinking that if you truly had been a criminal, you might have fared better in escape. Instead, you were just a scribe for the Empire, haplessly thrown into a situation you had no business in and floundering around with the vaguest of knowledge of the criminal arts.

You assumed that neither Ferdinand nor Hubert would return for a while yet. They had been coming less and less, busy with some political matter that existed far outside of your unaffected cage. But assumptions had never treated you so well, had they? There was a time when you'd assumed them to be good men.

Sweat beading on your brow, you worked at the lock with the hopes that your most recent attempt at creating decent tools would finally work. Your legs cramped from crouching and your eyes itched from the solitary sleepless nights. And you were rewarded. That was the worst of it. The lock sprung finally. _Finally_. You let out a breath of exaltation and twisted the knob, pulling the door open with a sensation of thoughtless surprise.

It was almost as if you were inviting guests into your home, two gentleman callers standing on the other side. Ferdinand held the key, ready to slip it into the lock you’d just forced. It was startling, frightening. The shock was almost a physical blow, sending you back onto your rear as your weakened legs gave out from the uncomfortable position they’d been holding. It hurt, your arms jarred roughly from where they caught you and your tailbone crashing to the floor at a bad angle, but the pain barely registered.

Ferdinand stood still, confusion furrowing his brow. Barely a second passed before his confusion faltered, then hardened as he realized what he had just happened upon. Behind him, Hubert’s eyes narrowed, quickly picking everything apart. He was faster in comprehending the situation, displeasure crossing his features almost instantly.

Fear swept through your mind, a natural, instinctive rush of terror at being caught in a position you knew full well you shouldn’t have been in. Perhaps any other person might have judged you for the nativity of such an oversight, but you hadn't anticipated what you might do if you were caught. You had always been too soft in that way, unable to consider the worst case scenario. Besides, if you were to be completely honest, you hadn’t thought you’d get this far.

“Well, well,” Hubert said, his face masked with an unreadable frown. “I must admit, this _is_ a surprise.”

“I… Wasn’t expecting to see you,” you said lamely, heart fluttering in your chest.

“I should say not,” Hubert said, stepping around Ferdinand to inspect the lock that still held your handicraft bit of metal and file. “How strange,” he mused to himself. “I wonder where a decent girl like you could have learned such a thing.”

“Are you hurt?” Ferdinand asked at the same time, his voice raised over Huberts. He stepped forward and held out a hand in the fashion of the gentleman you once thought him to be, a savior in red and gold. Your shaking hand took his on nothing more than instinct, accepting his help without thought. Ferdinand’s grip was strong but gentle, always gentle with you.

But you knew he was no savior.

“I’m fine,” you said, dropping his hand and taking an unsteady step back as your thoughts caught up with your body. Ferdinand looked hurt by the rejection, but you couldn’t focus on that. Eyes racing from him to Hubert, you desperately searched for an explanation. Something better than the truth, something that would smooth things over. “I was just-” 

Hubert slammed the door shut, making you flinch. “I’d consider my words carefully if I were you,” he said, his voice deadly soft in contrast with the loud sound. He pulled your tools from the lock, studying them for a moment. “Such a clever girl, it’s a shame you lack any sort of sense.”

The insulting praise hardly registered, your attention focused fully on the closed door. Trapped with your kidnappers once again. A claustrophobic feeling swelled in your throat. More than that, even. Seeing them after so many days alone made you feel weak, unconsciously acknowledging that if they had come even an hour earlier, you might have been pleased about it. It was one thing to want to run after days of isolation with your thoughts fermenting into desperate despair, but being faced with them was different. All of the toxic emotions you’d been filled with when you were by yourself deflated, spilling out and running thin. Why did they have to come now? Why not wait?

Why you?

“Why are you here?” you asked, the question emerging from the others in a weak voice.

“We came to see you,” Ferdinand said.

“It seems we arrived just in time, too,” Hubert added. “Going somewhere, were we?”

Fidgeting from foot to foot, your eyes cast away in guilt. You scorned the emotion, but it welled up all the same. How many times in your life had you been told that your emotions were a liability? Soft hearts were a commodity of peace. Callouses, you were told, were essential to the harsh world you’d been born into. But being soft didn’t mean you were stupid, you had enough reason to understand that such a weakness was why you had made such a perfect scapegoat. Why you made such a perfect victim. Ferdinand told you that your gentle heart was something wonderful. Something to be loved. But that was only because it benefited him. How cruel that your cynicism did nothing but hurt you further, that logic did nothing to quell your tears. All you could do was try to hide them.

“No,” you said.

“What do you say, Ferdinand,” Hubert said, ignoring your response. “Shall we give her a chance to explain herself? Or should we allow her actions to speak for themselves and skip to passing judgment?”

Your breath audibly caught. Judgment. You had faced judgment before, faced the mimic of a court held with Ferdinand and Hubert acting as the sole judges. You knew enough to know that judgment led to punishment. Punishment at their hands had come in different forms, depending on your infractions, but never had you attempted such a bold and brutish escape as trying to pick the lock. Little rebellions, angry words, refusal to do as they said. Petty offenses, all things considered, and yet they resulted in you being locked away in the dark and starved, or shamed and hurt by being spanked until you couldn’t sit right for a week. What punishment would they decide for this? Another thing you hadn’t considered.

“If her plan was to escape, I would like to know why,” Ferdinand said in a measured voice, crossing his arms.

“Let’s sit, first. She looks as if she’s about to pass out,” Hubert said. You blinked hard several times, hoping that he was wrong but fearing that he wasn’t. You felt dizzy. Hubert swept his arm forward in a mockery of niceties. “Ladies first.” You hesitated, meeting Ferdinand’s eyes for a fraction of a second before looking away. On top of everything else, you couldn’t bear the strangely pitiful expression of hurt in his soft eyes.

Acutely aware that both of them were behind you, you led the way into the sitting room. It was a trudge of your own free will, but it was painfully reminiscent of the feeling you had when the officer shackled you and marched you along to a prison cell for a crime of which you had no knowledge all those moons ago. The same looming sensation of inevitability when you were told that you might get a less harsh sentence should you admit to the accused wrongdoing. But in those situations, you were saved when the honorable Ferdinand von Aegir came to your aid and offered you clemency. You, a lowly scribe who had been in only the barest contact with a man such as him, had been so grateful, so willing to believe him when he told you that being kept here was for the best, that it was for your own good.

Was there any hope of rescue from what you had believed to be salvation? Out of any of the fanciful imaginings you entertained, that wasn’t one you could find it within yourself to believe.

Far too aware of your unsteadiness, you took a seat and wiped at your eyes, already working on the words that could get you out of this.

“Do you believe your tears will save you from facing the consequences of your actions?” Hubert asked in a dangerous tone, his voice holding the faint promise of a smirk. That was just like him, always so quick to cut to the heart of the matter, to cover anger with amusement. “Perhaps that sort of thing works on Ferdinand, but I don’t intend to let you off so easily.”

Before you could think of some way to respond, Ferdinand cut you off with a frown. “Are you saying I am lenient in my treatment of her wrongdoings?” He spoke in a tone of great offense, a sound at odds with the cold panic in your heart. “While my heart certainly does ache when she weeps, I cannot —No, I _do no_ t allow that to sway my judgment.”

“Oh?” Hubert asked in return, looking at Ferdinand with a haughty expression. “And what _judgment_ would you pass upon her now?”

“I would prefer to hear her explanation before forming any of my own conclusions,” Ferdinand said firmly. Hubert scoffed, taking a seat in one of the armchairs across from yours and throwing one leg over the other.

“I didn’t do anything,” you said, your voice cracking on the edges with the stress. That drew both of their attention back to you. A mistake, maybe. Sometimes they could get so caught up in their arguments that they forgot you altogether, but sometimes it only made things worse. Being forgotten for a time was hardly worthwhile when it ended with your two captors only more worked up than before.

“As far as defenses go, claiming complete innocence is quite bold,” Hubert said. “Especially when you were caught in the act.”

“I’m not-” you began in a half-mad defense, cutting yourself off when Hubert’s smile widened, ready to close in for the kill. You bit your tongue, swallowing hard against a dry throat. Care was necessary when dealing with Hubert. You needed to think about your words, knowing that whatever argument you were about to offer would be subject to his cutting critique. Arguing with him was useless if you were purely emotional, you’d be torn to shreds and hung by your own noose.

You took a deep breath. “I’m not claiming complete innocence,” you told him as calmly as you could, meeting his eyes. “Only that I didn’t _actually_ do anything.” You just opened a door. It wasn’t like you’d even left.

Hubert’s smile didn’t falter. A smile like that could mean anything, and there were few scenarios in which it would be positive for you. You’d known that about him from the beginning. Before Hubert could reply, Ferdinand cut in. He had taken a seat in his chair as well, no longer standing above you. Not that the power dynamic changed when they sat, it was merely less physically present.

“It was obvious that you were in the middle of an attempt to leave. Do you contest that?” Ferdinand asked, his caramel sweet stare turned to you with his eyebrows furrowed. Hubert’s cool sadistic glee was frightening, but seeing Ferdinand’s determined bluntness was cutting on its own. He was softer than Hubert in some ways, but not without his own rigid rules, and subsequent punishments regarding those rules. Hubert could be soothed if you were clever enough to convince him, but Ferdinand had no appreciation for such games.

“I was just...” you began, slightly stilted as you did your best to keep your demeanor pleading, a bit pathetic. Innocent. Those things should have come naturally to you, were you not being eaten at by guilt. “You’re both busy these days and I have nothing to do, I get so… I have nothing to do, nobody around, it’s driving me mad.” It wasn’t a particularly good explanation, but one pathetic enough you hoped for it to work. Ferdinand could be sympathetic to emotions.

Sometimes.

“So you intended to run away out of _boredom_?” Ferdinand clarified bluntly, glossing entirely over the emotional appeal you had hoped he’d accept.

“No, that’s not it. Honestly,” you said. Honesty was, perhaps, a poor defense to lean back on. Nothing between you and them was honest. Trying to cover any slip of expression, you continued, “Being alone so often is… I can’t stand it. Your horses have more freedom than I do.”

“The horses are well trained and obedient,” Ferdinand said.

“They’re well broken,” Hubert added dryly.

A sick feeling swelled in your throat, your mouth. “Broken,” you repeated in a hollow voice. Stress could break people. You had seen that during the war. Sometimes people simply couldn’t get over the things that had happened to them, the lights behind their eyes flickered out and they became as pliable as soft clay.

“What he means,” Ferdinand cut in. “And what I meant, is that my horses are trained to follow my commands. They have been broken in, so to speak. Even if they are not pleased with their circumstances, they behave and trust that I will care for them as I always have.” He frowned. “If you were not happy, you should have told us. Why did you not?”

“Isn’t it obvious, Ferdinand?” Hubert asked. “She’s lying.”

“I’m no-”

“The attempt, while somewhat admirable, was quite illogical,” Hubert continued over your panicked denial. “Say you did manage to leave, what would you have done to take care of yourself? Surely you haven’t forgotten the fate you were saved from. I cannot think of a reason for you to believe that you’d be any more capable of taking care of yourself now than you were before.” He paused to let those words sink in, watching you flush in shame. He was right, not that you needed a reminder of your own inadequacies. Leather glove on leather upholstery, one of his fingers tapped against the armrest of his chair as he considered something. “It’s strange that you’d attempt something like this after so long. I thought you had gotten over these rebellious tendencies of yours. The only conclusion I can think of is that there was another reason for you to desire to escape. I have a theory as to what that is, of course. Would you care to hear it?” His eyes flashed with the challenge, leaning forward as he waited for your answer.

What did he know? And more, what did he guess? You could feel your heartbeat in your throat, pounding like you’d imagine that of an animal cornered. The world was trembling before your eyes as you forced them forward so as to avoid the men on either side of you.

“I hate you,” you finally said in a monotone whisper, your ears ringing above the words, your voice hitching pathetically. “I want to leave, I don’t care what happens as long as… As long as I get away.”

Hubert made an amused ‘hmph’ sound. “I don’t believe you.”

“Surely you do not mean that,” Ferdinand said at the same time, his voice raised with displeasure.

“It’s true, I mean it,” you protested, closing your eyes to stop the tears, to shut out the familiar faces of the men on either side of you. “I do. I don’t want to be here anymore.”

Neither man responded. It seemed as if your words had brought the very world to a stop. 

“So be it,” Hubert said when the silence had stretched too thin, the sound of him standing up compelling you to open your eyes. “I’ve heard enough of this. I doubt she’ll offer up any honest answers without some… Encouragement.”

“Encouragement?” you asked, your red-rimmed eyes snapping up to his. Although you asked a question, you already knew what he intended. You could see it in his eyes. Punishment awaited you, although you realized that it had probably been inevitable regardless. “Please, Hubert,” you said, voice hoarse and hushed. All the traces of terror-driven bravery you had before was gone as your limbs turned cold, fear freezing you in place. “Can’t we just-”

“You’ve been given the chance to defend yourself,” Hubert said, cutting you off harshly. “And, might I add, you did a remarkably poor job of it. Now, will you come on your own, or shall we help you?”

“Ferdinand,” you said, your panicked eyes jumping to the other man. “Please don’t let him do this, please. I... I’m sorry.”

“If you were truly sorry, you would not have misbehaved in the first place. Is that not true?” Ferdinand said. You knew from the set of his expression, unhappy as it was, that you couldn’t plead with him. He wouldn’t hear it.

“What are you going to do?” you finally asked Hubert, your voice choked to a near whisper.

“I will punish you as I would a traitor,” Hubert responded. “Considering what you’ve done, it’s only fair.”

The word traitor was acidic, even if you didn’t know what punishment one would receive. But the knowing didn’t really matter. Whatever he had in store for a person deserving of the title was more than you could handle. “No…” you breathed, unsure if he’d even be able to hear the single word. Something far stronger than terror gripped your bones, curdled your blood. “Please no.”

“This will be better for you if you don’t resist, you realize,” Hubert said.

“Do you not wish to spare yourself?” Ferdinand asked, pleading and soft.

You shook your head, hands gripping the armrests of your chair with as much strength as you could spare. Whatever awaited for you was not something you would happily march towards. Stupid, silly, foolish, naive, it didn’t _matter_ what you were, you refused.

But that didn’t matter much, either.

“Fine, then,” Hubert said. “Ferdinand, will you help me?”

“Yes, of course.”

You struggled. It had been a while since you fought against them in earnest, especially physically, but you did so as you were pulled to one of the several locked doors on the first floor. You pulled and thrashed and begged and it didn’t matter because in the end, they got you there all the same. It was the only outcome, really, your delaying it only made things worse.

The room was familiar. It was the place Hubert used for his chemistry, among other things. You’d been inside only a handful of times, but those had already been too many. The room was lined with cold, unfeeling brickwork and lit with eerie lamps fueled by magic. Despite the air vent above the worktable, it smelled of whatever poisons and ingredients he kept stopped up in the dozens of bottles that lined the shelves and astringent cleaning solution. The chair, the hated chair, sat in the corner. It was bolted to the floor and fitted with leather straps that would keep you held down. A chair you’d been bound to before. One of the punishments, to be strapped down and left in isolation in a gruesome mimic of the way a parent would force a misbehaving child to stand with his nose in the corner.

“Sit down,” Hubert ordered when you were allowed to stumble to a stop without hands keeping you in place. He watched you, interested to know if you’d comply of your own will. It would be easier if you did. Simpler. But you couldn’t, your legs couldn’t draw you any nearer.

“Hubert, please, I-” you began, your voice breathless and every instinct screaming at you to run. Run where, though? There was no place you could go where they wouldn’t find you. Your begging was just as useless because he didn’t care, there was no pity for you in his shadowed eyes. So you turned around, looking to Ferdinand with hands raised in a plea for mercy. “Please don’t let him do this. Please, I’m so… I’m so scared, Ferdinand. I’m sorry.”

“You’re doing so very little to earn our forgiveness, I’d almost think that you wanted to be punished,” Hubert said. “Ferdinand, you may leave if you wish, I know you don’t have the stomach for this kind of thing. This is undoubtedly going to be messy.”

“You will not hurt her too badly, will you?” Ferdinand asked.

“Don’t worry about treating any injury,” Hubert replied. “She will leave this room unscathed.”

Ferdinand nodded, his eyes trailing from Hubert to you, eyebrows furrowed but his mouth set. “If that is the case,” he said slowly. “I shall leave it to you.”

Words you didn’t stop to consider tumbled out from your mouth before you could think of them, senseless pleading for Ferdinand not to let it happen, to not leave you here. Begging him not to abandon you. Never in your entire life had you begged for something so intently. But your tears didn’t sway him. When you tried to cling to his arm, he only pushed you away. He pushed you to sit down in your miserable metal throne. 

“Even if I do not like the method, if this is what it takes to dissuade you from putting yourself in danger, I agree that it is necessary. It is simply too dangerous to take any risks,” Ferdinand told you, clearly trying to console himself as much as he was you.

“He’s right about that,” Hubert agreed as he set and tightened a leather strap around your wrist to keep it bound to the armrest. You tugged at it, but by now you knew the futility of the movement. “It’s for your safety.” He did up the strap the bind your other arm and the reality of the situation well and truly set in. A thick, rancid terror swelled in the pit of your stomach. It made you feel sick, promising what was to come. “You’ll see.”

That was the moment you most clearly recalled. Those two words before Ferdinand left you, abandoned you, shutting the door behind him.   
Hubert made good on his promise to Ferdinand. You didn’t realize at first what he meant, but all too quickly you understand that you truly would not leave the room with any physical wounds.

You had never given any thought to the amount of pain a person could inflict when the wound could be healed right after. Hubert’s handling of healing spells was basic at best, but it didn’t need to be complex when the damage was all of his own making. Clean, precise, and simple. Hubert was experienced in the realm of torture. And that’s what this was, torture. He explained what he was going to do before it was done, told you of the pain it would cause and why he was doing it. You were a liar. You had betrayed their trust and affection. You deserved it. A jab to a particular system of nerves in the neck, a cut across a strip of particularly sensitive skin. Blood welled in a sharp crimson line beneath his silvery knife, running with your sweat. He pulled your lockpick from his pocket to study. He laughed at how poorly formed the tool was, pouring salt in the wound. Still, Hubert declared, your hands would have to be punished as well, it was only natural. Bones snapped, each finger cleanly broken where they laid on the armrests.

As if from the perspective of a dirty voyeur taking part in someone else’s misery, you watched the blood dribble down your skin, looked at the disturbing angles your limbs could be manipulated to lay in. Hubert let the wounds rest just long enough for the pain to shoot through your nerves to your brain, for your mouth to let out another hoarse cry. Stars scattered as your eyes rolled upwards, your body screamed in an agony so acute you were sure you’d never know its equal. Then relief flushed through you when the pain was soothed with white magic, your skin mending and bones straightening.

Then, again.

Whenever he healed you, offering the most cruel type of relief, Hubert told you that you were doing a good job, that you were handling it wonderfully. “You’re doing so well,” he praised you, petting your hair with a leather-clad hand. He told you that and pleasure swelled over the pain, waves foaming on top of the sand with such tender violence it made you numb.

Then, more.

Little agony to little agony, he wore down your will with a fine-grain file of patience and cruelty and an endlessly acute knowledge of how to hurt you the worst. When he had made you more than aware of your sins, when you knew exactly what pain he could torture you with, Hubert began asking questions. 

Endure it, Hubert said. Endure the pain.

So you did.

Answer honestly, Hubert demanded. Tell me whatever I want to know.

So you did.

Endure the pain. Each second you doubted your ability to handle a second more, believing that the pain would drive you insane. Or kill you. Or both, as you had been pushed into a state you could no longer tell the difference.

But you lived. Screaming, sobbing, begging, spared the escape of madness.

And time ticked on. At some point, you slumped and darkness overtook you, although you knew not if it was unconsciousness or some other comparable state of mental escapism. Then he was there, and you were awake, and you wished desperately for the dark. Hubert spoke and his voice was velvet. He hurt you and he asked questions and you told him whatever he wanted to hear because whenever you did he complimented you and that had become sweeter than the relief. You told him of your love, of your fear, of the trials you’d undergone to make the tools. Anything, everything, you gave it all to him in the vain attempt to make it stop.

Bleeding you out of life and of information, Hubert hurt you. He healed you. He complimented you. Time ticked on. Agonizingly slow, each moment producing a new horror as your body was pushed too far.

Extreme stress could do a lot to a person. In the war, you had seen the empty eyes and broken bodies of its victims, listened to the way their words danced around the events that caused them such suffering and attempted to understand their misery through a veil of confusion. How they wailed. How they thrashed. Treating trauma wasn’t within your capabilities, nor that of anyone you knew. Recovery either happened or it didn’t. That had haunted you for a time. Their empty eyes, fractured memories, and their madness.

Empty eyes. Fractured memories. Madness. Granted seconds of clarity amidst the agony, those ideas bounced around in your splitting head. Extreme stress could do a lot to a person. A lot.

It hurt.

Oh, by the goddess, it _hurt_.

And eventually, you were lost.

A cup was pressed to your lips.

Animal instinct kicked in, one of the few sections of your mind that hadn’t gone into hiding. The will to live, to survive. 

You hadn’t realized how thirsty you were. Desperately, painfully, unquenched, and persistent. You greedily slurped as much as you could. It was delicious, soothing the dry sandpaper of your tongue and throat. It dribbled past your lips, down your chin, spilling to your sweat-stained bodice. You didn’t care, all you could think was that it wasn’t enough.

The cup was taken away. A different kind of torture, this time. Even though you were half choking on the liquid, to be deprived was distressing. The groan of dissatisfaction that left your mouth was garbled. Weakly, you fought against the restraints, trying to chase it.

“Slowly,” Hubert admonished. You swallowed hard, nodding vehemently, leveling your breathing, hoping, hoping-

You drained the rest of the cup with a tad more restraint when he replaced it to your chapped lips. This time, you didn’t choke or cough or wind up with most of it dripping off your face.

“You’ve done very well,” Hubert complimented you, the words well worn and silky. The praise of your torturer. And your savior, maybe. They tingled in the back of your head. Fatigue had long set in, but something in those words still registered. He’d finally taken off his gloves. You could feel his bare skin against yours as he undid the straps keeping you tied down with gentle hands. “It’s over. I believe you’ve learned your lesson.”

That meant nothing to you, not really. The tide was in and you had sunk deep into the sand. You recognized freedom and you recognized Hubert and, distantly, you recognized that you were no less whole than when you had begun. Covered in sweat and blood, yes, but seemingly untouched. All of it was magicked away, as good as new. Pain sparked in memory regardless. The junction where your neck met your shoulder, the patches of skin revealed by your shredded clothes, the delicate bones of each finger. Unwounded, but the torture remained. Invisible. Floating. Forgiven.

You were glad to be lost in the ocean, it was a comforting place indeed.

Blackness blotted your vision when you were pulled to stand, your head lolling and stomach lurching. For a second, you worried you were about to vomit back up all the water you’d just gulped down, but Hubert supported you with an arm around your waist and that helped you stabilize. Rich coffee and the sharp, biting tang of dark magic. Leather and ink and the faint musk of sweat. You clung to him with all your pathetic strength, and he held you. Rubbing your back, hushing you as you cried dry tears.

His touch, the way he smelled, the pain, all of it was unbelievably potent and your emotions were raw and exposed, you weren’t even aware of the words until they left your mouth in a voice you didn’t at all recognize as your own. “I’m sorry,” you told him, raspy and broken. Practiced, by now. How many times had you repeated them? “I’m sorry… So, so sorry…”

“I accept your apology,” Hubert said. “You’ve earned my forgiveness.”

“I’ll never do ahn-nything like that again,” you said, a fresh set of sobs now well and truly breaking your words, although you were far away from the emotion, bemused by the way it worked through your overwrought body. You could barely remember what you’d done in the first place. It didn’t matter, you wouldn’t do it again.

“Is she okay?” Ferdinand asked, making you aware of his presence for the first time. You had been too wrapped up in yourself and in Hubert to notice anything else, but Ferdinand’s voice made you realize you’d been guided through the halls to your room.

Lighter than air, heavier than stone, you hadn’t realized you’d been moving. The discombobulation wasn’t only the fatigue, although there was the overwhelmingly oppressive weight of that, it was the debilitating sensation that you had withdrawn. The world existed around you, but you weren’t participating. Your emotions were overflowing, gushing like an open wound, but your body had become numb and cold and you could no longer feel the pain of it. You were moving and speaking and existing, but it was hollow. You were empty. You were powerless, laying at the bottom of the sea beneath a world of chaos.

And now that you were out of that horrible room and fairly sure of your safety, you were so, so tired.

“She’s learned the error of her ways,” Hubert said, prying you from his chest. “Isn’t that right?” You blinked against the brightness of the warmer lighting —too bright!— nodding without comprehension of his question because you knew it was what he wanted. “Good. Apologize to him, as well.”

“Yes, come here,” Ferdinand said anxiously. From one set of hands to another, you were pulled to face him. He was lovely. Blurry. Shining, all cream and caramel.

“I’m sorry,” you told him, your face crumpled along with the part of you that was broken and hurt, agonized over your actions. Was that really your voice? If speaking didn’t hurt your throat so bad, you might have doubted it.

“And I forgive you,” Ferdinand said, smoothing a palm over your hair. “She is not hurt anywhere, is she?”

“I told you she would remain unscathed. Physically, at least.”

“Good. That is good,” Ferdinand said, his eyes drinking in your appearance as if to confirm. But he could see, couldn’t he? You were perfectly fine. All healed up. Whole. Woozy, you drifted sideways, but Ferdinand stabilized you easily. He was frowning, an expression that made your heartache from wherever it had fled to. Then he pulled you into a crushing hug, enveloping you in his arms. “It breaks my heart to see you in pain,” he said, his voice rumbling against your ear. “But if it is necessary to ensure you do not attempt to leave... So be it. I do not know what I would do if I could not have you.” Slowly, your arms raised in return, wrapping around him. Ferdinand’s embrace was familiar. Safe. You buried your face into his chest and breathed deeply, holding to him in fear of the world that existed beyond.

“I daresay she would benefit from some rest,” Hubert said from behind. “She’s been through quite a lot, after all.”

“Yes, of course,” Ferdinand replied, freeing you from his arms. “Are you weary?” he asked, looking into your eyes. You nodded wordlessly, unsure if that was even the truth. What could you be but weary? Exhausted to the bone, crushed from the pressure. “We shall sleep, then. But first, you should get out of those filthy clothes.”

You didn’t move. His words flowed over your mind like water. Parting like the salty waves, taken away by the tide. To move, to undress yourself. You could visualize the movements, practically feel yourself doing them, but your body remained still.

“She seems to be experiencing a bit of shock,” Hubert said. Shock. Was that what you felt? The word felt foreign, strange. “I doubt she’ll do much on her own.”

“All right,” Ferdinand said. “Then I will help her.” You didn’t resist, but you did flinch when he reached for the laces on your dress, expecting the pain that would follow. He paused. “I am not going to hurt you. That is all behind us now where, hopefully, it will remain.” And you believed him, if only because you had no other choice. Because you couldn’t find it within yourself to truly care. At the very least, his words soothed some disquieted part of your mind. He was safe. This place was safe. You were safe. Distant, floating, safe. “You cannot go to sleep like this.”

You hummed, relaxing as he helped you sit on the bed. The bed. Your bed. The one that was large enough to accommodate the intimacy between three. Too large, you almost never slept in it. Not when you were alone, at least. Despite that, if Ferdinand wasn’t helping to hold you upright, you would have wilted into its soft surface.

But he didn’t let you. Not yet. The air was cold on your skin when your dirty clothes were removed. You raised your arms when you were told to, shifted your hips to free the fabric of your undergarments, leaned into the touch of a warm, wet cloth when it was passed over your bare skin. The gentle, sweet-smelling touch felt unfathomably good in comparison to what you had just endured. There was shame somewhere in nudity, in being cared for like a child, but you were dulled to the world, floating in a state that such emotions couldn’t touch you. Not just that, it felt good. Enough to send a shiver down your spine, the vague tingling sensation of pleasure bringing chills across your skin.

It had been a while since you’d been touched. The pain had made you sensitized, or perhaps that was the after-effects of the healing magic, or the relief of safety. Beyond that, your body had craved this in their absence, the aching memory of each lonely night imprinted into your skin. Still, even after being hurt?

That answer came easily, naturally. Of course.

A cloth between your thighs made you shudder in earnest, a low sound emerging from your lips. It felt good. A natural extension to being touched in such a gentle way. It woke you up slightly, dragged some piece of your mind from the slushy oceanic stupor that had taken over. You blinked against the glaze, a full body shiver rippling through you as sensation crept into the crevices of your head where you’d been hiding.

Hubert was washing his face and hands in the basin in the corner of the room. Ferdinand was half undressed and curious, the towel he held stained pink with blood from wounds that no longer existed. You blinked, closing your legs as you tried to scoot further up the bed to escape.

“Wait,” Ferdinand said, pulling you back with a hand hooked under your knee. “You do not need to be ashamed. If that is what you want, I do not doubt that Hubert would share my willingness to help.” He paused, watching you intently. “Is that what you would like?”

You stared up at him blankly, helplessly. Your skin was electrified from the barrage of sensation it had been exposed to, first the cruelty and now the kindness. Your heartbeat fast, not at all conducive to sleeping. It was uncomfortable. You were uncomfortable, surrounded by a cage of flesh and befuddled by a head of confused fog.

Hubert had finished washing up, watching with Ferdinand for your response. Like Ferdinand, he was in a state of half-undress. No longer wearing the clothes of torturer, Hubert had easily slipped into the casual attire of a lover. It made you more aware of your nudity than you had been, your heart picking up further and flesh crawling with the reminder of touch. Which touch? The sharp bite of pain or the gentle creep of pleasure? The line between them was getting more and more narrow, their differences becoming vague and unimportant.

Ferdinand had asked you a question. You couldn’t remember it underneath the weight of their eyes, let alone think of an answer. You couldn’t think at all, not when you could feel your heart beating so hard, when his hand curled up from beneath your leg to trace the inside of your thigh, when your head floated so high above. When his touch reached the apex of your legs, when the choice was taken from you with such gentle brutality, your eyes closed again with a soft groan, your torso falling forward against his.

“I suppose that’s your answer,” Hubert said.

“I-I suppose so,” Ferdinand agreed, as if startled. Or pleased. He pulled his hand away from your aching center and stroked your hair gently, sweetly. He pressed a kiss to your forehead with soft lips and you did not protest.

You knew what was going to happen when he stepped away. How many times had they done this? How long had you been here, subject to their whims? You didn’t know, you couldn’t remember anything than the most base of it all. The pain, the pleasure, the pulsing in your head and chest. Peeking from beneath your eyelashes, your instincts were confirmed as they undressed. No shame in nudity, not for the trio of lovers.

You fell sideways, putting a hand to your face, curling up slightly. If left there, you might have slept, faded away into the darkness despite the many discomforts that plagued you. Maybe that’s what you wanted. But you weren’t given the luxury.

Ferdinand’s hands were well taken care of, but they would always remain calloused from his ceaseless weapons training. They were familiar as they manipulated you upwards, your body conforming to his will as easily as a puppet on strings. You settled into a straddling position astride his thighs, one of his hands on your hip and the other on your back. His nose was warm when it brushed against your chest, his face trailing further down to take one of your nipples in his mouth. Malleable, without any defenses, your back arched, a soft sigh leaving your mouth. The shorter strands of hair that curled around his face tickled your bare skin.

For so many years of your life, you’d been fed the prudish lie that your breasts were for the children you would be expected to have and the lecherous eyes of men. Never did you think they could be used to feed your own perversions, sending tingling threads of pleasure down into your lower belly when his teeth scraped the sensitive skin.

“You didn’t even ask to know the reason she tried to run,” Hubert said, the large bed shifting when his weight joined yours. Ferdinand pulled his mouth away, sucking just hard enough to leave your nipple hardened and aching. You whined, although you weren’t sure the sound ever made it past your tumultuous thoughts.

“Did she tell you?” Ferdinand asked. You opened your eyes. Ferdinand was looking over your shoulder, a pink flush high in his cheeks. His hands ran soft, absent circles on your skin.

“She would have told me anything I asked,” Hubert said. He was smiling. You knew it, could practically see it even as your eyes fluttered shut again. They were talking about you, another thing you knew. But caring felt so far away, so beyond your grasp. “It was quite an illogical reason, but I suppose that’s to be expected with her.” A new touch swept your hair from your neck, colder than Ferdinand’s hands. Hubert’s fingers were longer, thinner, and coarse from a lifetime of use and a lack of tending. He had hurt you. So badly. The pain writhed beneath your skin, even if he’d magicked it away. And still, you didn’t shy away. “For all of the ways she expects us to indulge her, she would rather deny her feelings than accept them. I think she might have been trying to punish us for leaving her unattended so long, as well. It was a silly and selfish indiscretion, but I wouldn’t say it’s entirely unforgivable. Especially since she won’t be trying anything so stupid again. Isn’t that right?” His hand circled around to the breast Ferdinand hadn’t yet touched, rolling the nipple between his cold fingers. You hummed, or moaned. It was a sound of agreement.

“I see,” Ferdinand said. “You have been alone for too long. I am sorry about that.” He nuzzled his face against your skin again, the air tickling as he inhaled. “We have missed you, too. Is that not right, Hubert?”

Hubert hummed in agreement, or perhaps amusement. He pressed a kiss to your neck and you could feel the air of his words when he spoke. “Better to show by example.”

“All right,” Ferdinand said, some further implication inherent to the response that you couldn’t quite understand. But you did understand when his hand descended down from your hip, pushing past your labia and finding your swollen clit with ease. You understood that far better than you did anything else, really. It was innate. Familiar. It made perfect sense that you were aroused, but the revelation was no less discomforting. You shuttered, your hand leaving from its limp drape over Ferdinand’s shoulders to try and catch his wrist.

To stop him? To help him?

"Shh, it is okay," Ferdinand said sweetly, petting your hair with his off hand to calm you. It wasn't okay, nothing that was happening okay or sane or rational, but you couldn't find the strength to reject him. You were wrung out like a rag squeezed too hard, your mind too frayed to attempt cohesion. Besides, you had no room to escape. You were aware, on some level, of the body behind your back, even if Hubert wasn’t making an overt move to touch you yet, you could feel him. You were trapped.

Ferdinand traced down from your clit and pushed a finger into you. Although some wetness had already gathered, it wasn’t really enough. You could feel the stretch of entry, your inner walls tight around the intrusion. He pushed deeper and you wilted against his chest, a sound of defeat taking all the air from your lungs. Taking advantage of your submission, a slicked finger ran along your back entrance, circling the ring of muscle before pushing in. It was shocking, enough to make you tense up all over again, and you gasped, a keening sound vibrating from your throat in objection to the surprise.

"Be gentle," Ferdinand chided, although he didn’t stop pumping his middle digit in and out of you at a maddeningly slow pace so he couldn’t have been that upset. Maybe you should have been, but all you felt was the crushing sense of drowning defeat, the relentless pressure of the ocean above you.

"I am being gentle," Hubert replied, dipping his finger in further before pulling out and adding a generously lubricated second. There wasn’t as much resistance as there had once been, you had taken both of them before. The stretch had been painful the first few times, but now you eased into it with the same submissive acceptance you nearly always had for them. More than that, maybe, because when Hubert pushed his fingers deep you couldn't help but whimper, Ferdinand letting out a surprised moan in the same moment.

"What?" Hubert asked.

"I could feel it when you… Well, whatever it is that you did, she clearly liked it." Ferdinand said, dancing around any vulgarities despite his obviously affected tone. You knew what he meant all the same, could hear the wet sound as he pulled his fingers from you. In a terribly distant way, you couldn't help but marvel at how responsive your body was, how good it felt when Ferdinand added another finger.

"She really is quite the little slut sometimes, isn't she?" Hubert asked, repeating the motion and making your hips move against the touch, pushing downward almost as if you were trying to fuck yourself on Ferdinand's fingers in tandem with Hubert's ministrations. Maybe you were. "Should I take this to mean you've forgiven me?" Hubert asked, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

Your attempt at “no” became nothing but a heavy, “ngh,” as he thrust his fingers again. Ferdinand’s thumb found your clit and was rubbing tight little circles over the swollen flesh, making it even harder to find the will to struggle out a response. Or perhaps that was merely a result of the way you were moving your hips, grinding against him. It didn’t matter, the heady sensations pulled a full body shiver from your core to your limbs, leaving you shaking and pliable. A moan —an airy, whining kind of sound— left your lips. You didn’t want to be trapped in the vague haze of your own body, experiencing pleasure as a second hand reaction. But it was so hard to fight, to find a way to make your body cooperate in any way outside of their design.

“That’s right,” Hubert said, his voice close enough that you could feel it vibrate through his bare chest to his throat, leaving his mouth in a tone that held a smile. There had been a time when he wasn’t as confident, when he relied heavily on his bolder counterpart. That was when you still believed you had a chance at using his reluctance against him. Hubert had learned faster than you had, and now he was all smug smiles and unyielding touches and suffocating seduction. And you were weak, hopelessly so.

Ferdinand said something, but you couldn’t hear it beneath your helpless moan when he added another finger, relentlessly working against your clit. It didn’t matter that you didn’t understand him, all that mattered was that his words had been praise, you could recognize that from his tone. And that was enough.

Moving between them, being finger fucked from both directions, wasn’t something you’d be able to enjoy if you were anything less than depraved and senseless. Maybe it wasn’t good at all and your body was too ruined to recognize it. Too much of you was confused, your mind scattered and drifting, your body moving in spite of yourself without control or restraint or anything but the animal chase for more. Ferdinand tormented you with the way he rubbed your clit. They tortured you with the duel sensation of fulfillment. Made you shiver with the brush of breath on your neck, made you moan with a mouth sucking marks onto your over-sensitized neck and chest. They forced you into coming the same way Hubert had forced you to submit yourself to his punishment, facing no resistance against your overworked and weary self. You couldn’t cry out, not with your broken and sandy throat. You weren’t sure you had the words to properly ask for whatever it was you needed so badly. Instead, you just whined softly, your hips grinding an uneven rhythm between them, head lolling back onto Hubert’s shoulder and hands gripping Ferdinand’s as you tensed and ached and reached for the breaking point. It wasn’t the all consuming orgasm you craved, but you needed to come. Needed it desperately.

“You are the most beautiful girl in all of Fódlan. In all of the world,” Ferdinand told you, his voice pocked with little hitching breaths. He was already hard, his impatient length rubbing against you in a shallow mockery of what was to follow. “Will you come for us?”

You _whimpered_.

“There’s no need to ask, she’ll do as she’s told,” Hubert said, his voice somewhat less affected. He was good at keeping control of himself. Mostly. “You love us. You _need_ us. Prove your dedication. Come for us.”

So you did. It was watery and pathetic and needful and distracted but his words were enough to push you over the edge. You reacted to their touch as you always had, unable to keep yourself from becoming consumed by the stimulus. Your mouth fell open and your grip tightened, your body stuttering. It was too much of a fizzing, aching, burning thing, a bodily high that left you tingling and breathless, that left whatever intelligible parts of your mind crushed into some dark corner, helpless and terrified of your bodies needy impulses. Everything else was swept up by it all, by the fatigue and pleasure and the emotions that had drowned you from overexposure. And it felt good to come again. It really did. You couldn’t bring yourself to it anymore, not even with your face buried in a pillow that held their scent, not even when you allowed yourself to remember their touch, not when you were alone. Not without them. 

As your hips stilled from the jolting rut, sparing yourself the discomfort of overstimulation, you realized you’d more or less been the only one moving in the first place. There was a cruelty in that, but you couldn’t feel anything other than the aftershocks of orgasm and possibly, disturbingly, the ache for more.

Hubert chuckled.

“Is she ready?” Ferdinand asked as his hand left you barren. He always lost his composure first and tonight was no different, his tone alone made his needs perfectly clear.

“Ready enough,” Hubert replied, pulling his fingers out of you. Your eyes opened with the movement as they changed the position slightly, arranging you like a doll. Ferdinand’s expression was focused, his lips pink with the same blush that stained his cheeks. When he noticed you watching him he pressed a distracted kiss to your jaw. He said something, his voice familiar and warm. Sweet. Heavily affected by desire. What had he said? A question, it had been a question. You hummed in response, realizing a second later that he’d asked for permission. For consent. He always did before he entered you, as if you could ever say no. But why would you now? You ached with the absence of his fingers, your body thrumming from the orgasm and wanting more. Desire was more potent than the forced pleasure. It felt-

You gasped harshly, he wasn’t gentle when he pulled your hips down onto his, pistoning his own upwards to meet you halfway. Ferdinand was usually the one you trusted to be careful about your limits. But not now. Now he was perfectly okay to thrust deep and harsh, the tip of his cock hitting the painful boundary of your cervix. It made you cry out in earnest, the sound scraping against your ruined throat.The pain was ragged and sharp. Intrusive in a way Hubert’s torture hadn’t been. But that was quick to get lost in the ceaseless tempest of your mind, replaced by pleasure. Your innermost walls fluttered around him, adjusting to the abrupt entry with a complacent kind of ease, your body forgiving him almost instantly. Fully seated into his lap, it was easy to let your face fall against the juncture of Ferdinand’s neck and shoulder, your back curling towards him like an embrace. He smelled good, sweat, and expensive cologne. He groaned, deep and low, and you could feel it.

“I thought you wanted to be gentle,” Hubert pointed out evenly.

“That was…” Ferdinand said, his breath hitching as he drew you back upward. Yours did, too, for that matter. You gasped in and whined as you felt every inch of him leave you, a feeling as intrusive as entry. More, maybe, because it gave you time to feel every centimeter of his length until only the head of his cock remained in your aching pussy. “An accident.”

“If you say so,” Hubert said. You could hear the smile again, but that was gone when he spoke again, his voice lowered with the command, “Hold her still. Just like that.” As far as preparation, you thought you could probably use some more, but his slicked cock was already pressing against your back entrance and you knew you couldn’t articulate the words to ask him to stop. Or maybe you did and he simply didn’t heed them. “Relax,” Hubert told you. To help you, Ferdinand’s thumb dropped to rub circles over your clit. It was enough to get you to loosen up between them. The pleasure was distracting, but not all consuming. But still.

Still.

You didn’t fight. You couldn’t. Even if their hands weren’t keeping you in place, the heavy prison of your body would have forbidden too much movement. All you could do was hold fast to Ferdinand and be grateful that Hubert took his time as he pushed in. He entered you in slow, steady increments to let your body adjust to taking him, both of them holding your hips still so you couldn’t squirm away from the pain. With every minute push, you hoped against hope that he had bottomed out, that he wouldn’t drive any deeper. But he did. And you took every bit of it, your body yielding to his as if you were made for it. Hubert pushed into you until you could feel his hips against your backside and you were full to bursting. He didn’t moan, but his breathing was harsh and unsteady. It was wrong in the most invasive of ways, an intrusion for the singular purpose of pleasure. Or pain, in some cases. You hadn’t like it at first, but now-

Tears squeezed out of your shut eyes. They truly had taken everything away from you. It hurt, but you would be a liar to say that was the only sensation you felt right then.

“Good girl,” Hubert said, attempting to cover his breathlessness with a mocking tone. The fact that he was making fun of you with the praise didn’t matter, all you understood was the hot burst of pleasure that it brought. Your hips rocked. You didn’t know if it was to get more out of Ferdinand’s hand or because your body truly and desperately craved the pleasure of being fucked, but either way it was enough to get a soft curse out of Hubert’s mouth.

“Little minx,” he hissed, but it was approving, heavy with desire. Even the most controlled of men had their breaking point. How horrible that Hubert’s was here, buried deep inside of you while your skin still ached with the memory of his torture.

“Is this... Okay?” Ferdinand asked softly, his voice strained with slipping control. Another question, another make-believe question to give the illusion of consent or sanity to the situation. But you were still adjusting to the aching stretch and trembling from his continued touch against your clit and wavering from coming and their touch and the torture and you couldn’t give any coherent response because all you could think was that this wasn’t real, that you couldn’t handle this. All you could think was that you wanted more.

A whimper left your mouth, a slow nod bobbing your heavy head.

“Take care, Hubert,” Ferdinand said, his breathing forcibly evened out. “We must… Be gentle.”

“She’s not as delicate as you might think,” Hubert responded. He relented a second later. “But it’s probably best not to take any chances.” Ferdinand grunted his agreement, his gentleman noble mask slipping.

Still, true to his word, there was a kind of lazy tilt to the way you were moved. It was almost not necessary, because a fresh wave of your wet arousal coated Ferdinand’s length as you were pulled back into his lap, Hubert pulling out with the motion to let you sink down into a different sort of fulfillment. You could feel it all, both of them, trapped your body and mind it was like all you _could_ do was feel. This time, Ferdinand’s hips caught yours without violence, more like he usually did. He always preferred your pussy, or your mouth if Hubert was insistent. Something to do with his classic ideals. Ferdinand always liked to do things the proper way. Because this was oh-so proper. The harsh, aching stretch of taking both of them. The cruel lack of control you were given over their movements as they established a steady back and forth rhythm to properly and fairly share you. Like this, they had to take it slower, but being spared from a tortuously fast pace mattered little when you were being split in two regardless, from one man to the other, never given a moment of reprieve or emptiness.

At first, your thoughts reached out for distraction, some form of escapism that you had always tried to use to protect yourself from the brutal pleasure of assault. But now more than ever it was useless. None of it was important aside from the way it led you to this moment, to Hubert and Ferdinand and your inevitable place between them. With them. Filled by them. Loving them. There was nobody else, not family or friends or past lovers. Nothing else, not false criminal charges or petty nobility or the fresh scars of the war. 

You were glad that they weren’t expecting you to participate overly much because you couldn’t, really. It already took everything you had in you to move your hips with the rhythm they set and keep your shaking hands braced against Ferdinand’s bare chest. But the lack of control wasn’t merely from the physically demanding duel attack. No matter how you denied or protested it —not that you had the strength to deny anything right then— being taken by both of them ignited a uniquely destructive type of pleasure within your core. At your best, it was merely a test of your will to see how long you could hold out from being overtaken by the sinking, drowning desire. But you were not at your best, you were little more than moldable clay in their hands, a pliable vessel to be used. And you were so, so grateful that they were kind enough to take care of you like this. You were grateful that the pain was over, and that they had come home, and that Hubert had finally been pushed to the point of rewarding you with half-choked groans, and that Ferdinand was more than willing to praise you between his ragged breaths and needy moans. And, more than any of that, you were grateful that they loved you.

That final thought broke through all of the haze and fog of your head unlike anything else, reaching the tiny, quiet spot where the last few bits of your sense had been squished. You loved them. So much it was unbearable. Affection was slow, stunted by all the hours you’d spent trying to banish it, but it was strong and overwhelming. It paired with the pleasure in a conquest to throw you back over the edge of pleasure, to ravage you bare and push you to breaking under the pressure of taking them both. It was too much to feel, swollen and red and thick as it desperately threatened to burst out of your limited body.

Echoing the frantic pace of your thoughts and the tightening fervor in your center, they had sped their pace, using you in a desperate attempt to meet their own ends. Ferdinand and Hubert made a fantastic team when working against you. It no longer mattered how well you could synergize with their pounding rhythm, your part in this no longer mattered at all. Tears squeezed from your shut eyes. Your stomach muscles tightened and fluttered. Now the sea was stormy and the waves choppy, throwing you around with little control or mercy. No longer was the drowning depths of your mind a place of refuge, but a frenzied daze of nearly painful pleasure as your clit rubbed against Ferdinand with each thrust, your body hypersensitized to the unique cruelty of having both of your holes relentlessly fucked.

“Do you hate us?” Hubert asked in a breathy staccato of a voice, a tone that nevertheless vibrated through your entire body. You could feel it right in the center of your soul. Another of Hubert’s questions, one he’d asked so many times before that night.

The part of your mind you had dominion over didn’t answer, focused too entirely on coming again. If you came, it would all go away. The haze would come back and you could fall back into the comfortable state of floating unreality. Then it would be over, you just had to-

“No,” you said, you moaned, like a trained animal doing as its master ordered.

“You love… Me... Do you not?” Ferdinand asked, his voice even less put together than Hubert’s, low and breathy and insistent. His hands were needful, reverent, touching you, his fingers digging into your thighs, your waist, your breasts. You couldn’t stand to open your eyes because you knew he was watching your face in the same way you knew you were about to come, the tingling tightening and stretching sensation pulling you closer and closer. You could barely stand to speak, your lips parting and gasping, letting out sounds you were beyond hearing or feeling. Instead, you nodded.

“Say it,” Hubert demanded. He was close. Getting a bit careless, rougher.

“I do… I love you, Hubert… Ferdinand… I do love you, really.” You didn’t know if they heard you over the lewd wet, slapping sounds of the depraved coupling. You barely knew if you had spoken it or simply imagined the words coming out from your mouth like a confession, or a prayer, or a plea for a reprieve from the ceaseless torrent of pleasure. 

“And I love you… Adore you… You are beautiful… A-and perfect… And wonderful… Come for me, let me-” Ferdinand’s voice cut off with a vulgar moan. He was close, very close. But you were even more so, undone by the unadulterated adoration and ecstasy in his voice because that’s all you had been waiting for. Permission. And if Ferdinand’s words had been the ones to cause the tension in your core to well and truly snap, then Hubert’s were the ones to send you spiraling in earnest.

“You’re _ours_. Don’t you see?”

You did. You saw stars behind your eyes, the dark overtaken by starbursts of pleasure drawn into pain as their usually controlled movements went unchecked. Bestial and broken, you came _hard_ , your mind descending into the abyss as it snapped. Your body went completely taut as it broke, the tension gushing to overflow before bleeding through you in a single few moments of white-out bliss. You clung to the perfection as long as you could, clung to the absolutely depraved way you milked both cocks and desperately luxuriated in the sensations. Awareness was vague, filtered in like light through the water, far more instinctual in understanding than logical.

Ferdinand came first. He thrust hard and deep, ruining the rough rhythm they’d been following completely with a broken sound and his hands curled into bruising claws on your waist. You could feel his release coating your insides, feel every bit of it as he finished with a last few shallow thrusts. Without giving you even a second to recuperate, Hubert made a sound akin to a growl, pulling you off of Ferdinand and into a more solidly doggy-style position so he could find his own end. All you could do was whimper, holding fast to Ferdinand to stabilize yourself from the desperate, needful way Hubert was fucking you. It was quick after that, just a few harsh thrusts until he was surging inside of you, the pace going unsteady and erratic.

When he pulled out, when you were well and truly empty, the only thing you could think was that you really were filthy. Absolutely disgusting, used, sore, obscene-

“I’ll go draw a bath,” Hubert said after a moment of stillness, still breathless but not too much worse for wear as he slipped off the bed. It didn’t seem fair that he could move on so easily, not in the least. You might have complained, but when you moved, a thousand new pains rushed through you. Not only memories, this time. The hurt made it easier to slip back into the deep, deep waters. You were safer there, anyway. Safer and so, so exhausted.

Ferdinand gathered you up, seemingly uncaring that you were practically boneless in his arms. “You did so well,” he told you, kissing your sweaty forehead. Praising you. You hummed, a tired and happy sound. “We will clean up and then sleep. How does that sound?” You hummed, his words slipping past your ears, over your thoughts. When you were collected up into his arms, curled up princess style to be carried elsewhere, you didn’t object. The pain was there. The discomfort was there. Even the aftershocks of pleasure were there. But all you could do was close your eyes, lean your head against the familiar warmth of his chest. “I love you,” Ferdinand said, his voice rumbling against your ear. “I shall endeavor to tell you every day from now on, so you never forget it. I love you.”

You hummed, the words trickling down slowly through the crushing pressure. They were soft. You did not mind them. When you spoke, your voice was in a raspy state of ruin and far, far away, holding a tone you couldn’t recognize in the least. But the words were your own. “I love you, too.”


End file.
